


A Graduate's Dilemma

by fikkifini



Series: Hot for Teacher [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Artist Nanase Haruka, Domestic af, Fluff, Lover's Quarrel, M/M, Making Out, Mentions of Sex, Post-Graduation, Sequel, Suggestive Texting, Teacher Tachibana Makoto, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 10:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fikkifini/pseuds/fikkifini
Summary: Haru's living the housewife dream- almost. Lately, he's been missing the heat between him and his boyfriend from their days spent in Office Hours, but when Makoto attempts to fix this through a series of suggestive texts, he winds up pushing buttons he had no idea existed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tallyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallyn/gifts).



> Woo! Another awesome commission :D Got a prompt from nanasetallyn requesting a little something from the Teacher AU, and then basically gave me the freedom to choose the rest. So we decided on a post-graduation fic since a lot of people had asked for one after the series ended. Anyway, I tried to go really domestic with it, since this is the side of their relationship that we haven't seen yet and I haven't had a chance to explore either! So I hope this is just as enjoyable as 3,000 words of smut could have been ;) 
> 
> Also, I played around with present tense for this fic, even though the other parts of the AU were all in past. Hopefully it worked out well! Enjoy the read!

Haru never imagined himself as being the perfect housewife. In fact, he never imagined himself being _any_ kind of housewife, but if he’s being honest with himself now, well…

It’s better than he’s willing to admit.

The good news is, staying at home all day and not having to go to some office job (or even better, _classes_ ) means that he can work on commissions in his custom art studio. Yeah, that spare room down the hall from the master that had remained disturbingly empty, aide from a few pressed suits hanging in the closet? Well, didn’t take much effort to rip up the carpeted floors and lay down a stain-proof laminate perfect for the painter in your life. The modest sized room is just big enough for two easels, a drawing desk pushed against the window for maximum natural lighting, some storage, and surprisingly enough: a pottery wheel. _That_ has been a recently discovered passion, which means that those laminate floors are quickly becoming well worth the money spent.

It also means that on more than one occasion in the past, when Haru’s up late on the wheel, strong hands would slide around his and a firm chest would press against his back, a sleep-rasped voice murmuring against his ear, “Come to bed, Haru. It’s cold.” Such interruptions usually lead to a reenactment of that cheesy pottery wheel scene from _Ghost_ , and possibly a clay fight if things get a little too rowdy and Haru’s not quite ready for bed, but he can’t say he doesn’t love those nights either.

Besides, Makoto makes a perfectly good Patrick Swayze and no one can convince Haru otherwise.

And how could he turn away the very man who gave all of this to him anyway? Without Makoto, Haru would probably be stuck in his small-enough-to-suffocate-any-creativity apartment still, a miserable, college degree certified “adult” without a clue about what that new title entails. Haru’s almost always been treated like an adult up until now, what with his parents being MIA half the time and being left to take care of himself after his grandmother passed, but still. Now it’s official. Now, he’s out of school, he’s paying a mortgage, he’s engaged!

Well, practically. Makoto just hasn’t actually _asked_ yet.

Regardless, Haru is happy to perform his future housewife duties if it serves as any kind of thank you for everything Makoto has done for him since this past May. He scrubs away at some of his very own handmade dishes left in the sink from this mornings rushed breakfast (because when can you _ever_ be on time if it’s the first day of school?), admiring the crackled blue glaze beneath the bubbles. Bless Makoto’s soul for putting up with this recent fad in Haru’s life: honestly, who allows their partner to replace all their china with an amateur earthenware collection hardly even fit to be a table-setting in a broken down shack? Haru has to suppress a smirk as he remembers the first time he brought his finished pieces home from the kiln at a local studio. Makoto loved them, insisted they were worth hundreds- at least. He wanted to hang them on the walls and suggested even buying a proper china cabinet to display them in. So no, it really wasn’t a surprise then when he enthusiastically agreed with Haru’s proposal to actually _use_ them rather than just stare at them while eating off their standard store-bought dishware.

He tries really hard not to smile stupidly like this when no one is around, but he can’t help it when he remembers that Makoto is just so _damn good to him_.

He takes a mental moment to give his past self a shout out for choosing his college four years ago. Without that, well, there’s no telling the kind of life Haru would be dejectedly living now.

Checking the clock on the stove, Haru realizes just how long he had been holed up in the studio, finishing a painting commissioned by none other than Mrs. Tachibana, who’s been seeking a new look in the family living room. It’s nearly one in the afternoon, which means Makoto probably just spent his entire lunch break waiting for Haru to reply to a text he never saw in the first place. In some ways, they both sort of miss Haru’s senior year, when lunch breaks were a lot more fun than just eating a bento by yourself at your desk, and when office hours were rarely used for any kind of advising. Unless if being advised “ _bend over, fuck me harder”_ counted for anything.

If that’s the case, then Haru doubts Makoto’s office hours could have been used any more productively than they were.

He finishes stacking the dishes in the drying rack and trudges up the stairs to hunt down his phone, which he finds somehow buried in the tangle of unmade sheets on their bed. Must have been from this morning, when he reached over to shut off his phone alarm and Makoto tackled him from behind, his not-so-subtle excitement pressing right into the curve of Haru’s ass. Needless to say, that’s _entirely_ the cause of why they were running late this morning.

He’s missed four texts. Two are from Nagisa, sending his daily _haru-chan let’s hang out today!_ texts, to which Haru usually has to reply _no, it’s not okay to skip school to hang out with me just because I’m graduated._ Another text is from Makoto’s mom, sending him photos of color swatches that she wants his opinions on for the guest bedrooms, now that Ran, Makoto’s sister, has finally made it clear that “ _It’s been ten years. Makoto’s not moving back in. Let it go, mom.”_ He makes a mental note to prioritize that response, but not until after he checks the last text left. It’s a short message, but the implication of it has Haru blushing harder than he has in quite some time.

_It was very distracting having you in the front row._

Haru scoffs, tries to act like the message isn’t making his heart leap into his throat and types out a cool, _What makes you say that?_

He gets a reply almost instantly.

_Didn’t notice how bad it was until today. I think I’m actually a good teacher when you’re not around ;)_

_What was so distracting?_

Okay, yeah, he’s digging. But really, who can blame him? He knows Makoto must be bored if he’s replying this fast anyway. Maybe they can have a little fun, like the good ol’ days…

_I don’t know, maybe everything? Your gorgeous eyes. Or was it those pretty lips? No, I think it was actually your legs that did me in._

_Really? I thought it was my outspoken charisma, no contest._

Haru decides to take a deserving break from his paintbrushes and pastels for a minute and settles into their bed, snuggling up with the nightshirt Makoto had tossed carelessly on the mattress pressed to his nose. He sucks in a breath that leaves him dizzy with the aroma of Makoto’s body wash combined with the unmistakable smell of sex still clinging to the fabric from this morning. It makes him grip his phone a little tighter, miss last year a little harder.

_Mm, I think it was your voice that got me the most._

Makoto expertly deflects Haru’s attempt at humor, which he normally would have kindly laughed at- a sure sign that this is no time to mess around. He is in The Mood.

_My voice?_

_Yes. The first time I heard you speak, I wanted to know what it would sound like to make you scream._

_Fuck._ Sometimes Haru nearly forgets this predatory, nauseatingly _so damn hot_ side of Makoto that plagued his dreams when they first met, that primal need within him that inevitably became impossible to control. Haru likes to imagine that he still has that same kind of effect on his lover, although he’s sure the taboo of their initial relationship was fueling a good deal of their passionate fire. Now, he can walk through the grocery store holding Makoto’s hand, or they can go out to dinner together, and to the rest of the world they probably look like nothing special. Just two dudes in love. The exoticism of their relationship has definitely faded, which in most ways is a good thing. But in some ways, Haru craves the urgency, the desperation, the fear of getting caught. Though he can say with a confident heart that he certainly doesn’t miss the fear of losing each other to the rest of the world.

 _Are you coming home soon?_ He’s restless in his clothing now, but he doesn’t want to start anything if Makoto’s coming back. He’d much rather bear the sweet torture and hold out for the real thing.

_One more class at 2. Should be home between 3:30 and 4._

He groans to the ceiling, knowing it doesn’t sympathize with his pains, but decides he can probably survive three more hours without exploding, as long as Makoto doesn’t keep this whole unfairly arousing praise thing up.

_I’ll see you then. Try not to hit on any of the freshmen._

Haru’s genuinely surprised he doesn’t get an immediate phone call from a scandalized Makoto, hurt that Haru would even _suggest_ he’d ever be that creepy. Or that he’d fall for anyone else but his beautiful boyfriend (soon-to-be fiancé, Haru corrects himself hopefully). Instead he gets this:

_Jealous much? Don’t worry Nanase, my desk is reserved for your ass only._

Now _that_ practically drives Haru to hop on the nearly rusted out bike in their garage and furiously pedal down to the university, just so Makoto can witness first-hand a preview of the cold shoulder he’ll be receiving for the rest of the night. He manages to rationalize his thoughts enough to form a simple yet straight to the point text that he knows will have Makoto on his knees in the best kind of way once he gets home, begging for forgiveness.

_Cute. I’m going to your mother’s. Staying overnight. Dinner is in the fridge._

He’s only a little bitter that his phone goes silent after that. No response from Makoto, not even a tearful emoji to express his pain. Haru grumbles something about how Ph.D.’s should have a thesis for common fucking sense and rolls out of the bed to go to the kitchen and make dinner. He didn’t _actually_ plan to go to the Tachibana’s, fully anticipating Makoto’s pleads and cries for him to stay home, which he would have begrudgingly acquiesced to, but now he has to follow through on his word. How else would he teach that man a lesson? Engaged (heh) or not, _no one_ speaks of Jealous Haru. Ever.

He’s just about finished packing away containers of rice and pork in the fridge when he hears the metallic click of a door unlocking, followed by a _slam._ He nearly jumps out of his skin, probably would have if he didn’t know Makoto is the only person with a key who could have gotten in so easily. But more importantly, why is Makoto back in the first place?

“ _Haru.”_

The boy in question turns toward the hallway that leads to the kitchen, finding a very frazzled, very unhappy looking Makoto leaning in the archway, glasses slipping down the curve of his nose.

Stuttering, feeling a little out of breath because Makoto’s eyes are such a dark shade of green it’s absolutely _paralyzing_ , Haru mutters a thoughtless, “What are you doing here?”

Makoto crosses his arms and tilts his head with a frown. “I don’t know, Haru. I guess I could ask you the same thing. Thought you were going to mom’s.”

“I- I…”

“I cancelled class. On the first day, cancelled. Know why?”

Haru gulps and shakes his head. That’s a big mistake.

“Because my boyfriend, the love of my life, the sun in my sky, my everything, _can’t take a joke._ ” He rights himself, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “And then threatens to go stay with my mother for the night. _My. Mother._ All because I was just trying to flirt with him like- like we used to.”

Haru almost has to do a double take at that word. Flirt? That’s what Makoto thought he was doing? It felt more like joke at his expense since Makoto knows all too well the things Jealous Haru is capable of (no, we don’t talk about the Fish Market Incident, okay?).

“Well,” he says stubbornly, “then try flirting better next time.”

“Haru,” it’s more exasperated than anything else. “Was it really that upsetting to you? I hardly understand what I did wrong.”

Haru’s not entirely sure what he was so worked up about either. His already heightened emotions must have caused his reaction to spiral out of control. So he just stands there, dumbly, without a response.

“Why did you want to leave?”

The hurt in Makoto’s eyes is achingly genuine, so much that it propels Haru forward because, no, he really can’t keep his hands off his boyfriend whenever a look like that crosses his face. He grabs onto the lapels of his suit, gentle enough not to wrinkle them, but the tug forces Makoto to bend over just the slightest so Haru can press his lips to his tensed jaw.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were making fun of me,” he admits, reaching to smooth down the hairs he can tell Makoto’s anxious hands brushed out of place.

“Haru, why would I-”

“I don’t know. It’s stupid. _I’m_ stupid,” he amends, feeling more grounded as heavy hands settle on his hips and pull him closer. “I got all worked up.”

Makoto nuzzles Haru’s nose with his own and offers up his own, albeit smug apology. “You’re not stupid. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to work you up.”

“Yes you did.”

He hums a laugh, “Maybe. But not in a bad way. I thought it would be like… you know…”

“Old times?” It’s funny how they use that phrase as if it wasn’t just a few months ago. But for them, it’s a different world, a time so distant from who they are, who they can be now.

“Yeah. Guess I just don’t have it in me anymore,” he gives a tired smirk, although Haru knows there’s a touch of insecurity in it. Makoto has always been worried about the age difference, that he’ll grow too old for Haru too fast. It’s a silly fear, because no, ten years really isn’t that much. But also because it implies that Haru would _ever_ get tired of Makoto, which is _so aggressively wrong_ it makes him a little upset to consider it.

Tired of the conversation, Haru tilts his chin up and the invitation is accepted, their lips meeting in a kiss that speaks the rest of their apologies for them.

Makoto breaks them apart first. “ _Tadaima,”_ he breathes and elatedly watches the flush that subsequently spreads on Haru’s cheeks. Instead of the standard response, Haru thinks it more fitting to reply with tongue and teeth this time, his entire being rattled to the core by how unearthy cute his boyfriend can be sometimes. When he’s actually thinking.

Haru hums his pleasure when Makoto lets himself be pushed back against the archway, his hands sliding reverently over the swell of Haru’s ass, clad in a pair of tiny shorts that he proudly admits to wearing just so he can get this kind of reaction out of Makoto. Their kisses grow wetter, louder as Haru has to actively fight moans from cracking in his throat, his hips now chasing after each teasing brush of Makoto’s groin.

“Mmm, Haru-ka.” His name sounds just as hot as the curse that follows. “M-maybe we should, ah, talk more first?”

Haru pulls back, displeasure on his brow. “What do you mean?”

“We should probably stop jumping to the make-up sex part before we even make-up.”

Haru rolls his eyes and tugs Makoto by the belt, grinding their heat together shamelessly. “I’ve already forgotten what the fight was about,” he surges forward and latches his teeth onto Makoto’s bottom lip, then sucks it into his mouth with an obscene noise. He’s only got it for a second before hands are on his shoulders, forcing an adamant no-seduction-techniques distance between them.

“I’m still mad.”

Haru’s arms flop to his sides, punctuating perfectly his exasperation. “At what?”

Makoto’s bottom lip juts out, and Haru knows that this is going to piss him off all over again. “You were going to use my mom against me,” he pouts so sincerely that Haru ends up snorting instead of shouting, trying to cover up his amusement. Makoto takes even more offense to this and huffs, “It’s not funny Haru! She would have taken your side and you know it!”

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry I used your mom as blackmail,” Haru can’t take the apology as seriously as Makoto would like, but the brunet seems to accept it anyway with a curt nod.

“Say it and I’ll forgive you entirely.”

Of course, he should have known.

“Makoto _no_ , it doesn’t sound right when I say it-“

“ _And_ we can have make-up sex for as long as you want.” He bargains with a roll of his hips.

That gets Haru’s attention so easily it should be embarrassing. Should be, but what part of Makoto _isn’t_ Haru entirely weak for at this point anyway?

He steps back into their embrace and presses his face to Makoto’s, mouth just close enough to his ear so he can clearly hear the whispered, “I’m sorry, baby,” that sends an almighty shiver down his back.

“Doesn’t sound right my ass-”

Suddenly Haru’s in the air, slug over Makoto’s shoulder as if he weighs as much as a ten year old and not a full grown, past athlete nearing his mid-twenties.

“Put me down! It’s not like I was going to run away from the sex offer,” he grunts, but they’re already ascending the stairs and Haru knows his demise is coming.

In their bedroom, Makoto takes mere seconds to drop him onto the bed and start pulling off clothing, but Haru doesn’t have the patience for it. He grabs him by the tie and yanks, hard, and then he’s crushed under the familiar and comforting weight that he’s craved all afternoon. Makoto giggles a little at the impact and pulls back with a curious smirk on his lips.

“Still better than a desk?” His eyes are as sincere as the question is playful.

“Still better,” Haru confirms before joining their lips back together with a breezy smile of his own. Yes, he’d take housewife chores and make-up sex over mahogany-induced back pains any day.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Whipped that one out in a few hours around midnight so sorry for any mistakes! Anyway, this was super fun to write and I was so happy to revisit this AU and see my happy babes together again!
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen the pottery wheel scene from Ghost, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXfxUVjHFl0). Cackle with me. Let's pretend that Haru wears nothing but a shirt when he throws on the wheel and let's also pretend that Patrick Swayze's back can compare to Makoto's (it doesn't, but we can try). 
> 
> ANYWAY If you liked this story or you want one for yourself, you can check out my [commissions guidelines](http://tachinanabananase.tumblr.com/post/158422619449/free-ficoneshot-commissions#notes) and send me a prompt on my tumblr! Thanks for your support and please leave comments/kudos below <3


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